


say cheese!

by pxint



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pizza Place, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 17:06:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19361098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pxint/pseuds/pxint
Summary: Quinn’s up front taking an order when he hears the pop of a knife piercing a can and Brady goading Josh to, “skull it.”





	say cheese!

**Author's Note:**

> have never worked at a pizza place but i know it would be a disaster

“There’s a lot of controversy surrounding ranch on pizza,” Quinn says, and he doesn’t mean the side eye he gives Josh, but he kind of does. 

Josh takes a big bite of his very, very generously ranch-topped pizza and Quinn thinks he might throw up a little.

-

“We’re out of that tacky jalapeño sauce,” Josh says, stressing his ‘j’ without a care in the world. It’s horrifying.

Quinn thinks about how people like Josh should be arrested. 

“ _O_ — kay? You could try checking the back,” Quinn offers. “You’re not doing anything right now.”

“Yeah, but like.” Josh shrugs. Doesn’t finish that. 

“Like?”

He lowers his voice and jerks his thumb towards the front counter, “I told the lady I was checking the back, but I don’t really want to. Brady said he found a gnarly spider back there.” 

Quinn huffs and heads towards the back doors. “Nobody says _gnarly_.” 

-

Brady Tkachuk comes in late, makes up stupid excuses, and acts like he owns the place, but he knows how to make a damn good pizza and that pretty much shadows over everything else. 

Josh Norris, if he gets into their soda supply, is a useless asshole. But he’s Quinn’s best friend. 

-

Quinn’s up front taking an order when he hears the pop of a knife piercing a can and Brady goading Josh to, “skull it.” 

Hopelessly, he punches in the customer’s order and tries looking even slightly friendly when he tells them it’ll be fifteen to twenty minutes.

-

“Have a great day,” Brady says to a kid and he keeps smiling pleasantly until the door clicks shut. 

Quinn taps his shoulder. “He didn’t say it back. That’s grounds to sue.” 

Brady rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I’m not as dumb as I look. Josh said you tried the exact same thing with him,” he says, but he’s smiling. It’s a very nice smile.

Quinn swallows. “You _do_ look dumb.”

-

“This place looks like the dumpster behind a frat house,” Quinn snaps at Josh, gesturing at the soda cans on the floor. “Clean this the hell up.”

One of the cans is leaking out onto the floor and Quinn doesn’t even wanna think about how sticky the kitchen is going to be after this.

Brady doesn’t say a word off to the side, spreading sauce onto some dough, minding his own business. Quinn doesn’t look at him. Not directly, at least.

-

Rush hour. Brady stumbles in late, and he doesn’t look hungover, but he acts it. Quinn tries not to pay mind to it, because he’s still doing his job. Still making pizzas.

But.

Quinn says, “you okay?” And Brady seems dazed out when he looks over, but he nods. 

“Rough night. Whatever.” 

“It’s Tuesday,” Quinn decides to mention, because he doesn’t know a single person that gets drunk on a Monday night. 

Josh curses after burning himself on a pizza and the conversation dies. 

\- 

“Oh, fuck.” It’s Josh.

That’s all Quinn hears from inside the kitchen to know something’s gone terribly, horribly wrong. 

He hovers between walking in to check out the damage or pretending he heard nothing. Both very reliable options depending on the situation.

He doesn’t roll dice or flip a coin, he just lets his instincts kick in and his feet lead him right to a circle of pizza dough stuck to the ceiling. 

Brady stares at him in horror and Josh blurts, “it wasn’t me.” 

-

Turns out, after clean-up, it was Josh.

Brady still takes the blame and Quinn tries not to be too fazed by that.

-

“It’s all in your wrist when you toss it,” Brady says. “This isn’t a football, you gotta remember that.”

Josh nods at him.

Quinn’s supposed to be manning the oven, but he’s caught up in tracking every little movement Brady makes, the focus in his eyes, the way his tongue peeks out of the corner of his mouth as he catches his dough. 

It’s a very, very bad idea.

-

A worse idea: catching yourself, over and over, staring at the guy who only wears his uniform hat backwards, who’s got barely any charm with customers, who’s just about the biggest jackass Quinn knows — and then doing it again. 

Brady looks up from adjusting the placement of a tomato slice on his pizza and he catches Quinn’s eyes and Quinn just. Freezes.

Brady’s first to look away, after smiling, but Quinn doesn’t catch his breath until long after that.

-

Making pizza isn’t difficult. 

When it’s your entire deal, the biggest part of your job, and how you’re making the money to get through college, it’s not difficult.

Shredding cheese without cutting your finger is a whole other battle.

-

“Sorry, I think this might be an expired coupon.”

“You _think_ or you _know_?” 

“Look, do you want a pizza or not.” 

-

Quinn is on dish duty, which sucks ass. Everyone knows this. Dish duty is something you don’t even need to do to know it’s both physical and emotional punishment.

It was Brady yesterday. He still sticks around longer than he has to, talking to Quinn about a sketchy customer. And Quinn nods along to everything he says without even thinking about it.

-

Someone orders ten pizzas without calling ahead. 

If anything, that’s the worst day of his life.

-

Quinn shoves an order ticket at Josh’s chest. He’s got two pizzas in the oven and this is going to be the day they burn the place down.

“No mushrooms, please. They’re allergic. They might die. Do you want that? A dead customer on your hands?” 

Josh blinks at him. “Um, no. Not really.”

“I can take this one,” Brady pipes in, and Josh hands the ticket over. He’s smiling, smiling at Quinn, and he says, “no mushrooms.” 

Quinn thinks he would let the place burn down just to look at that for another second.

-

If they were ranked, Brady would come in dead last when it comes to talking to customers. 

Quinn wishes he understood any of his feelings towards a socially inept piece of shit, but he’s losing anyways.

-

“Have you ever played Papa’s Pizzeria?” Brady looks up from his phone, there’s a pizza cooking on the screen. Fuck it, it’s a slow day.

Quinn says, “yeah,” and leans back against the counter. “Almost as exhausting as the real thing.”

“Yeah.” Brady smiles with his eyes, little bits of joy crinkled up in the corners. “Almost.” 

-

“It would be weird to ask someone who spends half their day around pizzas out to pizza, right?” Quinn asks, trying to look serious. “Like, when you think about it, it gets to a point where there’s too much pizza.”

“One of the ten commandments is actually you can’t ever too much pizza,” Josh says, stretching out some dough. “Wait.” He pauses, looks at Quinn. “Are you gonna ask me out?” 

“No.”

Josh cheeses at him, big and toothy. “Well, you’re missing out. I can make a fine pizza _and_ I’m single.” 

Quinn holds out on immediately leaving the room and he thinks he deserves an award for that. 

-

“Can I have that well-done?”

“There’s a spectrum, I legally need you to tell me you won’t hold me accountable if it’s burnt.” 

-

“Hey,” Brady says, waving Quinn over. “Josh said something about you considering a pizza date with a pizza chef.” 

Quinn’s tongue instantly feels too big for his mouth. He doesn’t think he remembers how to form actual coherent sentences anymore. “Uh, yes. Yeah. That was me.”

Brady nods, slow. He gives Quinn this quick once-over and Quinn feels so, so small. 

“Just go for what you think will make both of you happy,” Brady says, and it sounds like a punch in the face. “Confidence, right? Big key.”

“Yeah,” Quinn agrees, and excuses himself to walk out the back. 

-

“You have a big fucking mouth,” he snaps.

Josh looks unaffected. “Comes in handy a lot.” 

-

He’s on the closing shift. Josh went home early because his mom’s in town. Brady hung around to help with clean up. He didn’t have to.

Brady says, “how’d the pizza date go?”

“Haven’t asked yet,” Quinn says, trying to keep his responses short. Quick. 

“You gonna ask?” 

“It’d be humiliating.” 

Brady twists his mouth to the side and Quinn only catches his eyes long enough to see the suspicion on his face. 

“You’re a good-looking guy, only way it’d be humiliating is if you’re trying to ask out a rock or something,” Brady insists, and sets his washcloth to the side.

And Quinn’s got. Things to say to that. But he’s left trying to duck his head to hide the pink he knows is dusting over his face. He’s fucked, he’s completely fucked.

-

In retrospect, Quinn should’ve known the day he met Brady that he’d end up whipped.

-

Tossing pizza dough saves time, Quinn knows that, but it still feels like he’s just showing off whenever he sees Brady doing it. 

It’s just. It’s a lot. He’s a lot.

-

“Hey,” Quinn starts, and he loses his train of thought the second Brady turns around. He needs a haircut, his curls peeking out wildly from underneath his hat. He’s got a tiny splash of pizza sauce on his jaw. 

Quinn inhales. Slow. 

“You got, uh, something.” He points to his own jaw, and Brady touches a hand to the pizza sauce. He laughs a little, wipes it off on his apron.

“Thanks, man,” Brady says. “Was there — something else?”

Quinn shakes his head and perks up when he hears the chime of the front door opening. 

-

They’ve got a first-aid kit full of regular, very normal bandaids. But Brady gets a cut on his finger and puts on this themed one he got from _wherever_.

Its got these little pizzas and sodas on it and Quinn has to put all of his willpower into trying not to be endeared.

It doesn’t work.

-

Josh catches him looking at Brady once and he doesn’t let it up until Quinn’s at his wit’s end. 

Then it’s again and again and suddenly it’s part of his job description to point out when Quinn’s being reckless. Reckless, stupid, way out of his mind.

But Josh claps him on the back and tells him to go for it, which. Isn’t helpful. Not at all. 

-

Another two weeks go by. There’s a rush hour everyday. Brady stops clocking in late. Quinn feels less tired. 

They make breadsticks together and munch on them while waiting for customers. Josh shotguns a soda. He doesn’t spill a thing.

Everything runs a little smoother.

-

“Hey, are you free tonight?” 

Quinn nearly falls over himself. He looks up. 

Brady’s talking to him. 

“Um, yeah, what’s up?” He’s trying his hardest to keep from listening in on the thrum of his heartbeat in his ears, but it’s loud, loud, loud, and he prays Brady can’t hear it. 

“We should get some pizza, some that we didn’t make. I feel like it would be liberating,” he says, and he’s watching Quinn’s face closely. Like he’s trying to gauge his reaction before his words.

Quinn nearly cracks up, but he subdues it into a smile. “Yeah, okay, we should — we should do that.” 

“Pizza date with a pizza chef, right?” 

Quinn nods. His face burns. 

-

Nothing changes, not really. Except sometimes Quinn will feel a hand on the small of his back as Brady passes by him in the kitchen. He’ll get a little kiss on his jaw whenever no one’s around, and Brady tells him, often, “you look good today.” 

Quinn will smile and hold onto the little things Brady does for the rest of the day and at the end of their shifts, they’ll get dinner together. 

It’s an easy routine. Nice, clean, perfect. 

Quinn feels good about it.

-

Pizza isn’t romantic, but he thinks they do it some justice.

Josh calls him sappy and he’s pretty much inclined to agree. 

-

“Ever thought about how you’re kind of cheesy?” Josh asks. He’s grinning.

“You’re terrible,” Quinn says, but he’s smiling too.


End file.
